 |
|||
|
|
Chapter 14 More Gerbils
“Took you long enough, Lieutenant, Penelope Grace, Special Agent, Serial Crimes Division,” said the moderately attractive brunette FBI agent extending her hand. “I’m here to help on what must be the most difficult and challenging case of your career.”
That was FBI ease for we are taking over. Do as you’re told and stay out of the way, Lowlife.
“Lt. Simon Westbrook, it’s a pleasure to be working with you,” I said ignoring her shitty remark as I shook her warm firm hand. Her pantsuit fit well enough that I could judge her body. The phrase, above average, fit Penelope Grace perfectly. She was slightly above average height with a slimmer than most figure. Her face was more handsome than pretty, and she had great hair, a cascade of soft brow shoulder length curls. Your average FBI femme believe the more mannish they look the better chance of promotion. Your average Hoover doll looks like she’s working security at a lesbian mixer.
But her outstanding better than average features were located on her anterior upper torso. Fake or not, the woman was sporting some serious tits. I’m more of a butt man but that does not mean I can’t appreciate the presence of large melons on a skinny girl. I wondered how long it would be before I got a look at the size tag in her bra. My initial estimate was 34D. Unfortunately my visual scan got me off to a bad start.
“Watch the elevator eyes, Lieutenant. I’ve heard all about you,” said Penelope squeezing my hand like a man.
Behind me, one of the female MEs snickered. Her name was Sally Rawlings and I along with half of Boston PD had nailed the little slut when she got drunk at a retirement party for one of the division heads. I had pictures on my home computer of her gobbling my cock. I made a mental note to send one to her husband.
Agent Grace was wearing a wedding ring with a big diamond. A later peek at her HR file revealed she was the mother of two boys and currently married to a fellow agent assigned to counter terrorism. Somehow I didn’t think that would keep me from getting into her pants. I can be a terrible optimist when it comes to believing I will fuck every woman on the planet.
“Sorry, there was a wreck on Storrrow Drive. Traffic was a bitch,” I muttered as we stepped over trash scattered around the abandoned mill building in a seedy section of Mattapan. I decided to play the consummate professional. I may be a cock hound but I don’t want the reputation of one.
“Three kids discovered the bodies and called it in at 8:47AM. A black and white was dispatched. Patrolman Radnor was first on scene. He took a quick look and called SCU. Why is the FBI involved?” I wasn’t able to control my curiosity.
“If this is what I think it is Boston is the fourth city they have worked. I wasn’t informed about the gerbils found in Cynthia Rose’s orifices, a serious omission by your department,” said Penelope as we stopped at the front door to don our gloves.
When I arrived Penelope was waiting impatiently to enter the crime scene. Given her aggressive reputation, I was surprised she waited; however, the FBI was forever admonishing its agents to play nice with the local PD even if they are incompetent and not worthy to be on the same planet with the exalted members of the bureau.
“You mean to tell me a serial killer is moving about the country murdering people and stuffing gerbils in their orifices as a calling card?” I said as we stepped inside the dark building. The smell of fresh pigeon shit filled the air.
“Exactly, you should have contacted us immediately when you discovered the gerbils in Ms. Rose’s rectum and vagina,” said Penelope turning on her flashlight.
“Sorry but at that time I had no reason to assume it was not a local crime,” I said ignoring her implication that I had fucked up.
“I understand you adopted the gerbils,” said Penelope as we slowly and carefully walked toward the bodies with the MEs in tow.
How the hell did she know that? But I was determined not to allow the bitch to rattle me. My boss had called to alert me that the FBI had assigned a real ball buster to my case and that I had better be on my best behavior. “Yes, Puss and Ass are in a gerbil habitat at my residence.” I left out the part that the two had been fucking like crazy and Puss was knocked up.
“Puss and Ass, sounds sexist, I would have thought Boston PD would be more up to date on diversity,” said Penelope as we stared up at the naked bodies of a young man and woman.
“Puss is the white female gerbil removed from Ms. Rose’s vagina and Ass is the black male one extracted from her rectum. I thought the names would be helpful in case it turned out their sex and colors have a meaning,” I said in my calmest and most professional voice. In reality I would have liked to slap the bitch senseless, rip her clothes off, fuck her ass till her rosebud hung out a good two inches then leave her hanging in the mill along with the two bodies.
“FYI, a white female is always inserted in the vagina and a black male in the anus. At least that has been their practice in Tampa, Nashville, and Birmingham,” said Penelope playing her flashlight over the man’s body.
Officer Carl Radnor had reported the presence of dead Caucasian male and female bodies suspended upside down, their heads waist high. They were facing each other with their legs and arms spread wide. Chains attached to wrist and ankle cuffs stretched them between the ceiling joists and support columns.
And stretched was highly accurate. A hand crank at the end of each chain had been tightened to the maximum. When I checked there wasn’t any slack. You could play them like a banjo. The image of Cynthia Rose stretched like a rubber band across the trunk of her BMW came to mind.
There was bruising under the armpits. It like their shoulder and hip joints were dislocated. There were several piles of fresh shit on the filthy concrete floor.
Luckily, Officer Radnor noticed the clear plastic plug inserted in the man’s ass and the movement of something trapped inside. Rumors about my gerbil case had spread throughout the department; so he called SCU.
“Was castration also part of his MO,” I asked noting the absence of the man’s testicles and penis?
“Yes, the male’s penis and testicles will most likely be found wedged in the female’s esophagus,” said Penelope aiming the flashlight on the female. “If the MO is the same, she was asphyxiated by it. The female victim is castrated by the removal of the clitoris which the man is forced to consume. They also remove the breasts but for some reason, possibly cannibalism, they keep those.”
I pushed aside the thought that Agent Grace’s knockers would easily feed a family of eight. “Why do you think more than one person is involved,” I asked noting her use of the plural pronoun?
“Our best profiler believes it to be a couple, a male and a female, possibly doctors or someone with medical training,” said Penelope.
I didn’t have a lot of confidence in profilers, and I did know something about the history of serial killers. I couldn’t recall a man and woman acting in concert. “A couple would be unheard of.”
“Yes, something of a first, although there have been several pairs of males,” said Penelope looking at me as if I was Ted Bundy’s partner.
Even in the semi darkness, you could tell they hadn’t died easy. There were marks all over their bodies and their toe nails and finger nails were missing. There were burn marks and cuts on the sensitive areas of their bodies including the arm pits and inner thighs.
When I walked to where I could see their backside, my flashlight played on a gruesome scene. Their skin had been flayed off from their shoulders to the top of their thighs. Someone had whipped the flesh of their backs. “They were skinned,” I said.
“My guess is they were abducted Saturday night and did not die until last night,” said Penelope.
“Two days of utter hell,” I said feeling slightly sickened. Sometimes I liked my sex with a good dose of pain, but this was on a different scale altogether.
“That’s quite a pile of shit,” I said focusing my light on the brown cow piles nearby.
“Our lab says it is from a high colonic, a very painful high colonic,” said Penelope.
“You’ve lost me,” I said unfamiliar with the term.
“It’s a very serious and thorough high pressure enema that cleans out and opens up both the large and small intestine. Your gerbil friends have been running back and forth in about twenty feet of open gut having the time of their life,” said Penelope.
I’d had my share of pre-ass fuck enemas and while they hurt in a good way, they weren’t all that painful. “You said it was painful,” I said.
“Very, there’s tremendous water pressure and they use an astringent that makes your bowels burn and cramp. They probably started screaming when it started and didn’t stop until the last turd got sucked out of their intestines. It’s nothing like what happens when you douche out your hinnie for some boy cock,” said Penelope.
The boldness of her remark surprised the shit out of me. I wondered if she monitored my Web purchases and knew of my recent acquisition of a shower douche to speed the cleansing of my rectum. I’d made its use part of my regular routine. At that very moment, I could take nine inches in my poop chute and it would emerge poop free.
Penelope had me at a disadvantage. She seemed to know everything about me and I knew nothing about her other than my growing desire to publically humiliate the cunt.
She reminded me of Stacy Winters, the class cock teaser we gang raped after a football game. Having satisfied our enraged lust, we wrote whore and slut all over her body, stuffed oversized dildos in her pussy and ass, secured them with duct tape and tied her naked to the flag pole in front of the high school. There was quite a crowd including Principal Mayhew gathered around taking pictures when I arrived for class.
Strangely enough she suffered no long term emotional damage from the event, a keen disappointment to the football team and a reminder of just how mentally tough females are.
“I don’t have a boyfriend, strictly hetero here,” I said without conviction.
“Sure you are, Simon,” said Penelope as she patted my rear. “That little tushie of yours is still virgin.”
That engendered more snickers from the MEs. It was time to change the subject. “It looks like his cock and balls were ripped off,” I said noting the jagged flesh.
“Jerked or snapped off is more accurate. We think the perps apply the strappado,” said Penelope shinning her light on a pulley in the ceiling. “They ripped her tits off the same way. They cauterize the wounds to keep them from bleeding out.”
My Mom always taught me never to be afraid to ask a question even if it does make you look stupid. “Strappado, I’m not familiar with the term.”
Penelope looked at me as if I was a dumb shit then explained. “It’s a form of torture that’s been around for centuries. It was first used in Italy during the Inquisition but it is still used in Turkey and the Middle East. And of course, our military used it at Abu Ghraib before the bleeding hearts broke the story to the press.”
“So how does it work,” I asked?
“They tie your hands behind your back like so,” said Penelope reaching behind her back and holding her wrists together.
I could help but notice how that made her boobs stand out. I felt a stirring in my groin that I hoped she wouldn’t notice.
“Then they attach a rope to your wrists and using the pulley lift you off the ground.”
Agent Grace bent over to demonstrate how the strappado would live your arms upward. My horny brain formed a mental image of her slacks and panty down around her ankles. My favorite officer of the law was switching his nine inches between her pussy and her ass as she begged me to fuck her harder. I ordered myself to stop fantasizing. There would be plenty of opportunity to fuck her once I had established my professional reputation.
“Jesus, that must hurt,” I said.
“It’s agonizing. And that’s not all. In this case they tie a wire around the base of your cock and balls and attach weights. They do the same to the female’s breasts. Then they haul you up about ten feet. They let you hang for a while. Then they let you drop to where you almost touch the ground. But the rope isn’t that long and you jerk to a stop. It dislocates and eventually breaks your shoulders.”
“And your cock and balls,” I asked?
“They keep adding weights and repeating the lift and drop until they snap and splatter on the ground,” said Penelope shinning her light on a bloody spot on the floor.
“We think they drive some sort of super RV,” said Penelope shinning her light on a set of tire tracks. “It’s equipped for every kind of torture from electro to branding irons.”
“But you still haven’t been able to find them,” I said wondering how many full sized RVs equipped as dungeons were tooling around on the nation’s roads.
Penelope anticipated my question. “It may not be registered as an RV. These people are very clever. But I have some ideas about how we can work together to catch them.”
|
|
|